


date night

by relationshipcrimes



Series: when you're on the last lap of mario kart and the music gets really fast [3]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M, Sex, minor violent imagery, …obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:13:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28044489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relationshipcrimes/pseuds/relationshipcrimes
Summary: Goro can feel every inch of Akira's weight as he gets settled on Goro's lap, Goro's palm along the side of Akira's thigh, and there's Akira's fingers against his jaw and Goro's hands are trailing along his waist. "I want to convince you to stay," Akira says.Goro swallows hard. "You should be grateful to even see me multiple times a year. Don't get greedy.""You make me greedy," Akira says quietly.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira
Series: when you're on the last lap of mario kart and the music gets really fast [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1856380
Comments: 20
Kudos: 230





	date night

Some nights, when Goro has finished washing the stink of blood out of his shirt and feels a little too safe in his own hotel room; when he thinks he might actually pull the remains of Shido's conspiracy up by the roots sometime before he's ninety years old; when he's taking a drag of his cigarette in the no-smoking room up by the bathroom vent because it's not like the hotel can track his fake ID anyway, and he's feeling good about his little scrapbook full of names of people to take down and newspaper clippings of their careers publicly imploding grow fat; when he's feeling confident and cocksure and like he can envision the world under his heel, ready to break: He picks up his burner phone. He plugs in a number he's long since memorized. He texts an address, a time, and closes his phone.

Then he sits on the edge of the hotel room tub as the minutes crawl by and Akira doesn't text him back, which is understandable for a graduate student and nothing to read too deeply into, and curses his past self for not putting more eyes on Akira and removing all his leads on him despite the fact that he has a folded-up post-it in his own wallet that says _STOP CHECKING HIS CAMERA FEED_ on one side and the sex hotline number on the other side, and he tries not to bounce his foot because he'd just had a good day and he isn't about to ruin it now, especially since it doesn't even really matter if Akira can't make that day and it doesn't actually mean anything and who is Goro to make demands on Akira's time when they don't attend the same university and Goro barely sees him more than once every six months and a pretense of a friendship back when they were in high school does not a relationship make, especially because half the damn thing was them trying to manipulate each other in the fumbling idiot way that teenagers think they're capable of with only half their frontal lobes grown in, and instead he gets up and fiddles with the thermostat to bring the temperature down to freezing and sticks his face by the air-con so he doesn't have to look at how much time has elapsed since he texted Akira and he doesn't have to think about how the text before _that_ was from almost eight months ago and he is the master of his destiny, he just ruined Shido's secretary's life last week, he is in control of this situation, he has set the terms and conditions and the place and the time and the only thing Akira can do or say is yes or no and it is barely a choice on Akira's part, really, and Goro _can_ and _will_ crush their evening together under the iron fist of preparation and good planning under the contingency that Akira texts him back, which he is only doing because he is an organized individual and not at all because he stands to gain or lose anything from this interaction, because Goro has very much ensured that Akira has lost and lost and lost over the course of the previous four years of minimal and painfully strangled communication, and therefore there are truly no stakes to this fun little encounter—

—and his phone chimes with a short:

**Akira** : _See you there_.

Goro throws his cigarette out the window, slams it shut, and runs to make the battle plans.

Goro's hotel room is naturally spotless, but it takes some time to hide the wires, the guns, the condoms. He rearranges the furniture three times. He sanitizes the bathtub twice. He changes the sheets to black, then red, then purple, then red. He cannot remember the thread count and this is when the doorbell rings, so Goro has to sprint (quietly, so he's not overheard) to change into a shirt he hasn't practically sweated through, but that ruins the color coordination with his pants he spent forty-five minutes picking out, so he has to change that, too, and he won't settle for his second choice of outfit so he has to come up with something entirely new on the spot: White collared shirt, black pants—he looks like he's going to a five star restaurant—he rolls the cuffs up and unbuttons a shirt and the doorbell rings again. He slams the laptop closed and shoves it into his luggage. Picks out three books that he hasn't read ( _The Tale of Genji_ , _The Phenomenology of Spirit_ , and _Confessions of a Mask_ in case Akira "gentleman" Kurusu needs a fucking hint) and puts them on his bedside table, as if he would ever deign to actually read a book instead of just rotting his brain with a cocktail of social media and CCTV footage of his newest victims.

He takes a deep breath. Reflexively puts on his interview smile. Takes it off: he won't insult Akira with that garbage, even though he still feels like he's about to step—not onto a stage, but into the ring, maybe. He steels himself, squaring his shoulders like he would before battle. And then he opens the door.

Akira has a heavy bag full of groceries and a very small smile on his face, like he's genuinely glad to see Goro. "Akechi," he says, warmth in Goro's name in Akira's mouth.

Goro wants to fucking kill him. Or himself. Akira just looks at him like he's glad to come home.

"I brought gifts," Akira says. Always giving little trinkets here and there. Goro could kick himself for not wearing the silver bracelet Akira gave him all those years ago. Goro would also have strangled himself for doing such a thing and admitting openly that he still has it. He wishes he had his cigarette back for something to do with his hands when Akira lifts the shopping bag, the pair of wine bottles poking out.

"You shouldn't have," Goro says flatly.

"But Detective, you've already spend so much time seducing _me_ ," says Akira—there, right there, the slight edge of Akira's sense of humor, the outline of a knife against warm laundry. "It's simply not fair."

"Nobody's keeping score," Goro says. (But if they were keeping score, Goro is winning by seven dates. He has seen Akira blush six times, had him at a loss for words twice, and made him laugh so hard he choked on his fizzy non-alcoholic drink once. Goro has done none of those things. He hasn't had so much as a hair out of place in ages. The score is nine to two—one loss for the time Akira made him wear his glasses in public and messed up his hair, and one for the engine room.)

Goro reaches to take the groceries, but Akira slips his hand around Goro's fingers with a magician's grace and brings Goro's knuckles up, like a gentleman holding a lady's fair hand. "Still. It's time I returned the favor, isn't it?"

Goro holds absolutely still as Akira's lips brush the backs of his knuckles. He doesn't breathe. He tries not to think. His chest hurts.

Finally, Goro wrenches his fingers free and resists the urge to cradle his hand like Akira had burnt it. "I suppose I should know by now not to underestimate you," says Goro.

Akira smiles. He holds the wine out to him for Goro's inspection. This time Goro takes it from him without a hitch, but—of _course_ —only because Akira lets him. Goro steps aside. Akira lets himself in.

This is when Goro remembers why they haven't done this in six months: There is nothing that Goro hates more than date night.

Akira busies himself in Goro's own kitchen. Goro rapidly spins out the logic that Akira just likes him because Goro has a real kitchen instead of whatever shit contraption Akira's grad student apartment has: Akira likes cooking, Akira doesn't have the money to cook anywhere that isn't Sakura's cafe, Sakua's notoriously picky about what ingredients are and aren't in his kitchen, Goro is a pushover who will let Akira play with his 155,000 yen kitchen knife set that Goro _technically_ bought to kill whoever wants to assassinate him in his sleep. "I can take out the mushrooms if you really don't want them," Akira tells Goro, "but I don't think you're even going to taste them."

It's like they're picking up a conversation from where they last left off, except the last time they spoke was six months ago. "I promise I'm not a child who can't handle mushrooms," Goro says.

"You always take them out of your burgers."

"Because it's cheap fast food. Your fancy French mushrooms are a matter of art." Goro eyes the amount of ingredients that Akira had crammed into one grocery bag, all of which Akira seems determined to pull out and splay across the countertops. "...Apparently. I won't be rude and decline."

"I don't want you to eat them if you don't like them."

Oh, spare Goro the concern. He can't stand how considerate Akira is sometimes. The second Akira's done disembowling his bag of groceries, Goro declines to answer and pulls out the red wine for the recipe, then a pack of beers and vodka. Akira accepts the cheapest, shittiest brand of beer while he measures out oil, salt, tomato paste, garlic, more garlic, red wine, more red wine, and more garlic.

Goro watches him work and sips at a Diet Coke that he pretended to put a shot of vodka in. He doesn't drink. Not when he's around Akira. One of the only good habits he picked up from Shido's days was not to drink around your enemies.

Akira's eyes go unfocused over the measuring cup. He opens his mouth. Goro braces himself. Instead, Akira seems to think better of it, and dumps the contents into the pan. "How much longer are you going to be here, do you think?" he says lightly.

Goro has this hotel for the next three days. He's been in Tokyo for the last two months, so he'll have to move soon. If not an old face from Shido's ring, some Kirijo dipshit will be up his ass in another two weeks at the latest. He doesn't bother to respond, and instead just raises his glass of Coke. "We'll make the most of it."

Akira stirs the sauce. Goro can never tell if he's disappointed, not disappointed at all, or just very good at hiding his feelings. Goro wonders often if Akira's face can break, and what Goro has to do to see it.

"Do you think you'll make it to my graduation?" Akira says.

"I don't particularly want to see your parents pretend they give a shit about you, Kurusu."

"They're genuine about giving a shit about the business degree."

“Hm. Somehow this doesn’t incentivize me.”

Akira gives him a smile like they’re sharing a secret. Goro hopes to god he isn’t smiling back. "And I think Ann genuinely would like to see you, too."

Goro looks at him sharply. "You told your friends about me?"

"No."

"It's _dangerous_ , Akira."

"I know."

"You would be putting them at risk."

"You're putting me at risk."

Goro sneers. "Don't tell me you're afraid."

Akira smiles at him, like Goro has just given him his favorite present. Bites his bottom lip just a bit, the delicate skin curving, round between his teeth. Goro steadfastly does not look at Akira's mouth and takes a drink of his Coke and wonders if it's time to add actual alcohol to it.

While the food is—doing something or other, Goro doesn't know, but Akira said to wait—Akira stretches out languidly on the couch. He's wearing a plain T-shirt and a collared shirt over it, significantly dressed down and Goro hadn't even noticed it until Akira's T shirt had chosen that moment to rise up over his pants and show that he isn't wearing a belt and a sensible black underwear that makes Goro want to strap Akira to a table and interrogate him on his underwear choices, on his clothing choices, on what he likes to wear, on why he wears it, why Akira hides his under plain clothes and neutral colors, why Akira treats his body the way he does and what ways Akira wants Goro to treat it, if it comes with an instruction manual to make it flinch or squirm or shudder and if Akira's flat, taut stomach muscles will tense if Goro touches them with his bare hands, if this will tell Goro why Akira is the way he is. Akira folds his arms behind his head. Goro can see the triceps bend, the strong lines in his forearms delicate where they slide under his watch and connect to his palms. "We have time before the food is done," Akira says significantly, which Goro ignores outright and sits on the armchair, away from the couch, his legs spread and elbows resting on his knees to hunch over himself. He hopes that he looks dangerous. He hopes that he doesn't look like Shido did, when Shido was trying to threaten someone from across his desk because he liked bullying anyone who he thought might hurt him. Goro immediately stands up.

"Wine?" he asks.

"Oh, sure."

"I have some files for you."

Akira seems much more interested in the files than the wine.

Still, Akira takes one glass, then two, while Goro sips at his Coke. Akira's focus is frightening. It's different, when Akira looks at something he intends to eradicate singlehandedly; Goro drinks it in, like he could absorb Akira's hatred by proxy. "Looking for suggestions?" says Akira after a second, without removing his eyes from the paper.

"I'm not. But I thought you might like to know who's going to be on the news in the coming months."

Goro's like a little cat bringing dead animals to his owner. Akira gives the files one last disgusted look. He puts the papers down and drains his second glass.

"Penny for your thoughts."

"The world is just as corrupt as it was," says Akira. "The only difference is that we don't have Personas anymore."

Goro hates how conversations with Akira feel like coming home.

"I think sometimes that you were right," Akira says, and Goro feels his own spine tighten. "We should've taken advantage of the power that we had. We should have just taken the chance and ran with it and razed the earth—"

"Don't," says Goro, "say that."

Akira's stare is frighteningly flat without his glasses in the way, hard and impenetrable under all the layers of pretense at being a normal human being. Goro doesn't know how people don't fall to their knees on the sidewalk seeing his eyes without the glasses in the way. "Would have thought you'd like being right."

"Not at this late hour. You took my opportunity for revenge. Take responsibility. I won't have you backing down from your ideals now."

Akira measures the idea in his head. Then he nods. "I still miss Arsène, though," he says, just as his phone pings, and Akira stands back up to return to the kitchen.

"Hardly anything to miss. It's just a Persona."

"Arsène used to talk to me." Akira picks up the wooden spoon and stirs the sauce again, checks the oven almost automatically. "I don't think I would have survived if I hadn't had someone who understood what I was going through. I think understanding is what makes other people's souls fit together with yours."

"Idealistic and overly romantic. Relationships take work, and they typically aren't with a Persona you've chained to your heart."

Akira makes a little expression like he is barely avoiding rolling his eyes. "I didn't say that he agreed with me. He also had a lot of opinions on how to make coq au vin. I'm sure I'm doing something wrong even now."

Goro frowns at him. After a moment, Akira frowns back. "Did your Personas never talk to you?"

Once, Loki told him that—should he be certain that going up against Shido was what he wanted to do—he would have to learn to swim in poison without drinking it in. In theory, if he just kept his mouth shut and refused to let the poison soak through, he could dive to the very depths of Shido's conspiracy untouched and destroy it from within.

That, Loki had said, was true strength. Robin Hood's urge to eradicate and purify was bluster and machismo. The real winners could surround themselves with their very own enemies and still refuse to lose who they were; they could swim in a sea of temptation and, only if they still could resist, could they say that they were truly stronger.

He doesn't like to contemplate about whether or not this advice was sound. He doesn't like to contemplate whether or not he succeeded in keeping his mouth and nose and eyes shut to the poison, whether or not it matters when poison could seep into your very skin. Even if he decides he didn't succeed, there's no use in thinking about it now.

He does know that that was one of the very last times Loki ever spoke to him. Only a week after that conversation, Loki's mouth had sealed closed.

"I wouldn't remember," says Goro, with a horrible crack in his own voice that makes him reach out on instinct and pour a large glass of wine and down it in ten seconds.

Goro is laughing and Akira's arm is in the crook of his elbow. The mushrooms _were_ perfect, and Goro says so, with enthusiasm that makes Akira beam. "You are," Goro says seriously. "You really are."

Now Akira is laughing. "We were talking about the mushrooms."

"The mushrooms too. I said the mushrooms the first time."

"You didn't."

Goro shakes his head and sighs into another bite. Akira is watching how long Goro keeps the fork in his mouth. "You're better than grad school," he says after he's swallowed.

"You're better than this too."

"What?"

"Revenge."

Suddenly Goro wants to be sober, but his head is clogged full of mud and he can't quite get it out. "I don't recall this being... any of your concern."

"Don't you think you're just doing the same thing you did before?" Akira waves a hand. Goro always thought it was so cute how Akira started to use his hands when he talked, how he talked more when he was drunk. "Chasing after Shido, trying to fight evil—"

"Akira," says Goro, or he means to, but it comes out like a bite. Akira doesn't pull away. If anything, he might be even closer. "You think I can do anything else?"

He hates that he's asking it honestly. He didn't mean for it to be honest. He didn't mean to be honest with Akira at all at any point, but now it sounds like he really wants Akira to tell him: _Yes, Goro, one day you will be someone entirely different from who you were as a teenager, you can become someone who doesn't fixate on crimes twenty years past and one day you will never think about the life you should have had if your father wasn't a piece of shit_. Akira's legs are pressed up against Goro's thigh. "You could stay and try at least," says Akira. "Hang out. Just be a regular person with us. Not run around after revenge."

Goro isn't on a revenge quest. He's biding his time. Becoming better. Preparing. He's not strong enough to go up against what Akira does to him, so the natural conclusion is that he has to prepare, spend four years amassing his weapons and aligning everything perfectly, like how he'd spend three years pushing the chess pieces into order so he could destroy Shido in one fell swoop. One day he'll figure out how to obliterate the power Akira has over him entirely and Goro will never lose sleep over him again and never wake up aching for a body to hold in his arms and never think about the day he'd seen Akira's black hair turn a golden brown in the Tokyo sunset and also if he could forget what Akira's voice sounds like when he's just came on Goro's sheets. Goro is very glad he did not say any of that aloud before Akira comes closer, soaked in the thick cloud of alcohol, and says, "I really like spending time with you, you know."

Once, Goro was the one who would say shit like that to Akira, before he wisened up and figured that he was being stupid and transparent, and that he wasn’t actually gaining anything by handing Akira his heart on a plate. That actually he was losing, and quite a lot. There was a game that Shido used to play, where the victor of any conversation was whoever got the other to talk more about themselves. Typical business practices. People like to talk about themselves, as they say, and the quickest way to flatter someone and gain control of someone's favor is to make them speak about themselves. This is why he is winning: Akira comes into his home and cooks food for Goro and speaks about his own thoughts and feelings, and Goro stays silent. (Or as silent as he can.)

Akira is in Goro's hands. Literally. Goro's hand is cupping Akira's elbow and Akira's knees are straddling Goro's hips on the couch and Goro barely even remembers how they got here, which he regrets only because he wanted to savor it. He can feel every inch of Akira's weight as he gets settled on Goro's lap, Goro's palm along the side of Akira's thigh, and there's Akira's fingers against his jaw and Goro's hands are trailing along his waist. "I want to convince you."

"You should—" Goro swallows hard. "You should be grateful to even see me multiple times a year. Don't get greedy."

"You make me greedy," Akira says.

Akira’s mouth is so close. He keeps breathing in Goro's hands, which for some reason Goro thinks is miraculous, that Akira is alive in his arms and nobody has died again and that Akira is warm and alive for Goro to dig his nails into and never let go of. In Goro’s head, he thought that it’d be better if they just fell asleep on the couch together and didn’t do anything and Goro could wake up pissed and cockblocked to hell but at least he’d come out of it with his dignity intact and having made zero funny noises in the middle of it, but that makes it sound like he’s afraid of letting Akira touch his dick, and Goro isn’t afraid of anything.

"Isn't it the same for you?" Akira says softly.

Goro can do this. He _practices_ for sex with Akira, although of course he will not admit to this on pain of death. Most of the time he could barely get off to whatever warm body had deigned to let him fuck them, but sometimes he liked practicing; he definitely liked the idea that he was getting better at it, that every time he did it, he was perfecting the act, making it containable, something that he could sharpen to a neat point and wield for himself so that Akira could never catch him unawares with it. The last time they did this, he’d made Akira turn around so he didn’t have to look him in the eye, and it'd been almost perfect, except that Goro wanted to see his face when he came, wanted to look him in the eye and watch his face crumple with bliss, wanted to dive deep into whatever poison Akira's made of and never come out—

He has it under control. Just one other poison to hold his breath against. Goro lasted three years in Shido’s court; he can do one night with Akira in his hotel room.

Akira's lips taste like a shot straight to his hindbrain. Relief in floods. Goro opens his mouth and drinks him down.

Akira moans into his mouth, and Goro doesn't even realize he's trying to say something until he grabs Goro by the hair and pulls him away. Then Akira kisses him again, which sort of defeats the point of separating, but at least this time is shorter. "Wait," Akira says sluggishly.

Oh, he’s _pretty_ drunk. Goro thinks it’s so _precious_ how Akira loves to take his guard down around him. Akira might as well have rolled over and splayed his belly. Actually, Akira really did roll over and splay his belly and also spread his legs, which is making it incredibly difficult for Goro to get his shirt off.

Goro ignores him and kisses him again, but again Akira kisses back only for a moment before pulling away. “Let me take care of you," Akira says.

“I’m not a toddler,” Goro replies. “I don’t need to be _taken care of_. Unless it’s a euphemism for assassination.”

"Mm? New roleplay idea?"

" _No_."

Akira starts giggling on Goro's hotel room couch, his dick is hard in his pants which is rubbing against Goro's crotch with his laughter, Akira's chest shaking under his thin shirt. Why does Akira let Goro anywhere near him? When Akira looks this way? Goro doesn't fucking _understand_. Doesn't Akira know that half the time, Goro wants to bite Akira's skin clear through and pull the meat and muscle into his jaw and chew him up and swallow him down? And Akira lets Goro kiss him with that mouth? Goro grabs Akira's hips to hold him down, which just makes him squirm more intentionally on Goro's dick.

“You’re a little brat sometimes," Goro hisses.

Akira’s teeth barely show through his tiny smile. “Step on me?”

Goro wants to put his heel through Akira's ribcage. Watch the last second of surprise fade from Akira's face, right before Akira will never be able to hurt him again. Goro's grip on Akira's hips tighten to the point of pain and Akira's eyes go dark.

"You can be a little greedy, too," Akira says softly. "You can be rough if you li—"

Goro leans in to his exposed neck and bites hard.

Akira thrashes under him. Goro digs his teeth in until Akira goes limp, pulls away to get his collar down and suck it to a rosy bruise. Relentlessly, Goro pulls up Akira's shirt and gets his nails into Akira's nipples until Akira gasps, leans down to lave at the wounded nipple and then get his teeth into that too. Akira lifts a hand. Goro grabs it without thinking and pins it to the couch.

"Goro," Akira says, just a nonsense filler word that fills Goro's veins with hot sludge as Goro spreads Akira's legs as far as his jeans will go and grinds their cocks together with enough force to press Akira through the cushions into the ground, hopefully, and then Goro can crawl into the dirt with him and keep him right there in his arms and feel every breath Akira takes and every little jolt he makes. "G— _fuck_ ," Akira moans, and Goro resists the sudden urge to pull Akira's arms until they rip apart, but he needs to be closer—he's grabbing Akira's arms and yanking him towards him and grinding so hard he's sure it must be more pain than pleasure but Akira just makes a soft noise under him—he isn't close enough, it's not enough, he needs _more_ —

"Get your fucking clothes off," Goro hisses, to which Akira scrambles to comply and it's maybe the most disorganized and messy Goro has ever been in his life, with Akira trying to wrestle out of his clothes and Goro refusing to take his hands off Akira's limbs for longer than half a second, Akira blindly kissing Goro back as he wiggles out of his pants.

The second Akira is mostly naked, Goro nearly slams him into the back of the couch. Akira laughs a bit at that too, fond and without a trace of mockery; Goro can feel his higher brain functions shutting down because he genuinely cannot decide if he wants to spend the rest of the night kissing his mouth or putting his mouth on every other inch of Akira's naked chest or maybe putting his mouth around Akira's cock. "Come on," Akira whispers, "fuck me, get the lube—"

Goro's hand somehow winds up on Akira's dick. Akira shudders. It's not enough, he needs to be closer; Goro cages him in with his body against the couch and buries his face in Akira's bitten shoulder and works Akira like he's going to rip the orgasm out of him, pull it out of him by force and take what he can't have every other day of the year; Akira whimpers and pulls him closer, licks Goro's palm when it goes dry and lets Goro pin him down like a large toy and wring it out of him. Goro feels like a camera left on over exposure with the way he soaks in every whimper, the little muscles under his skin, every hitched breath, every shudder of Akira's body against his lap, the sweat and smell of him, the little bitten-off _Goro!_ when Akira lets go. He hopes that it's all branded into him somewhere, recorded on the camera retina of his brain. He hopes that even if he forgets, somewhere he carries the imprint of Akira in him.

Akira opens his eyes slowly. His expression is hazy with alcohol and sex. Goro peppers his face with kisses, gathers Akira's soft limbs to hold him together.

"I hope this means we're going again," Akira says with a quiet smile. "You still haven't fucked me."

"You're really such a brat," Goro breathes.

Akira gets enough energy to hold him back and for one second, Goro feels whole.

Goro has three fingers inside Akira when he snaps out of it and thinks: _Akira forgot about that 'taking care of you' shit_. Akira's eyes are screwed shut with pain and pleasure. His skin is between Goro's teeth as he marks another bite, Akira's knee pressed flat into the mattress beneath Goro's hand as Goro holds him open. "I'm ready," Akira says impatiently. "Just—"

 _Shut up_ , Goro thinks. The next thing he knows he has one hand over Akira's mouth as he shoves his fingers into him hard, twisting and spreading hard enough that his wrist aches and Akira's body clenches around him. Akira's gasp is hot against Goro's palm.

Goro can do this. He can win this. He'll break Akira in half with pleasure and leave him on the mattress and Goro will be free and he'll never see Akira again. Or maybe he will, and he won't care. He'll take and take and take and fill himself up with Akira and he won't want anything anymore, won't feel his heart lurch at Akira whimpering that he's going to come, that he wants to come with Goro inside him—something is wrong with him because Goro isn't thinking anymore and he pulls Akira's hips up and fucks into him hard, crushing them together. Akira's nails rake down Goro's back.

“Finally,” Akira groans. “Fuck, Goro, that’s so...”

Goro pants into Akira's chest and clenches his jaw shut over all the stupid noises he's trying to make, like this is nothing to him and he isn’t using every brain cell he possesses to think about anything other than Akira’s body wrapped around his dick.

Akira looks like he's having fun with the way he's sighing, but his body is so tense. “Good?” Goro grinds out.

He meant it in a way of _Are you okay for me to move?_ instead of the _Does it feel good?_ sort of way, but it’s too late. Akira’s eyes reopen from where they’d been closed in bliss. “Goro,” he mumbles vaguely. “You feel so good—you’re so good...”

Goro feels his stomach drop. "Don't say that."

“You liked it last time," Akira whispers.

“Shut up,” Goro hisses, then: “—You remember—?"

"Yeah?"

"Last time was—months ago—“

Akira’s mouth is right next to his ear, Akira’s dark eye looming in Goro’s peripheral vision. “I think about last time every night.”

Goro can’t breathe right. He chokes out what he hopes is a scornful noise. “You’re really…” he manages, but fuck if he knows what Akira really is when Akira’s hands are flat and smooth around the sides of Goro’s chest, Akira's lips skimming Goro's cheeks like his skin is a fine wine to be savored.

“If you really want me to stop, just say the word,” Akira says quietly. “But I think about how much I want you every day.”

Goro freezes. God, fuck, he’s supposed to be moving, that’s the whole point of this exercise. He needs Akira to stop talking right this second.

"I fuck myself on dildos thinking about you inside me."

Holy _fuck_.

"I miss you so much," Akira says, his hips moving just a bit, grinding Goro's cock inside him.

" _Stop being embarrassing_ ," Goro hisses.

"But you feel so good."

“Stop— _talking_!” Goro gasps, but (thank fucking god) Akira doesn’t listen this time.

“Come on, Goro, please fuck me, I'm even asking nicely, move, Goro—"

“Akira—“ Goro says, and wishes he could die from how much his voice sounds like a whimper. He pulls out just enough to slam home again and he is going to collapse from how tight Akira's wrapped around him, how hot he is inside; Akira whole body moves with the force of Goro's thrusts until Akira's trembling with need.

The second Goro feels himself getting close, Goro lifts Akira's hips higher, bears his whole weight down on him, determined to make him come a second time. Akira's legs are a vice around Goro's chest. "Like that!" Akira gasps. "That's—Goro—perfect—again, harder—"

Goro wants to rip him in half. He hates this. He hates Akira. At some point, tears collected in the corners of his eyes; Akira doesn’t even look at him with an ounce of pity, nothing but reverence, and Goro can’t decide which is worse if the reverence is what makes him feel like he’s going to shake into a thousand pieces. Goro grabs him and kisses him hard, their mouths clumsy and wet against each others', his hips moving helplessly against Akira’s. It feels like lashing out in a battle he's about to lose when he gives in and fucks Akira as hard as he can just to make Akira scream once, short and sharp bliss on Goro's hindbrain.

Someone's gasping in Goro's ear. "Don't stop," Akira whispers against his skin. Goro wants to curl up and disappear. “God, I can’t get enough of you.” A light kiss against Goro's mouth. “You're gorgeous—crazy—perfect—“

A keening noise. Pleasure loud in his ears. Goro's holding on to Akira for dear life, open-mouthed against Akira's neck—"Goro—!"

Goro comes without sound. He almost wishes he could scream but he can't breathe. He digs his nails into Akira's skin like a drowning man, the closest he'll ever get to begging for help, but Akira just moans and shivers and even when Goro's throat finally unsticks itself, his gasps sound pathetic and thin. His chest hurts. His heart is beating too fast in his throat and even as he panics to keep his breathing under control, he can't make it slow down.

Akira mumbles something with a lot of swear words and jacks himself off hard and fast between their stomachs and comes in a minute with Goro’s softening cock still inside him. Goro barely registers it. Then Akira curls up underneath Goro’s sweaty body like there’s nowhere he’d rather be than covered in drying sex fluids and Goro Akechi; if he were a cat, Goro thinks he might be purring.

"Had fun?" Akira sighs.

“Don’t ever do that again," Goro says raspily.

"You had fun."

“Fuck you.”

"You already did," Akira says, like Goro knew he would say, which kind of makes Goro want to punch him in the face. “Goro,” says Akira. “I miss you."

Goro’s chest still feels too tight. He bites his lip in case he’s going to cry. “I miss you,” Akira says again, even softer, and pulls Goro close to him with gentle hands.

Goro shoves himself up and pulls out of Akira. “Get out,” says Goro.

He regrets it immediately. Even before he feels Akira tense against him, he wishes he could take it back. “...Goro?” says Akira.

Regret doesn't mean he's going to change his mind. “Get _out_.” Goro leans over the edge of the bed and picks up Akira’s clothes in a handful and slams it into his chest. Akira looks at it like he’s never seen clothes before. “Do I look like I’m joking, Kurusu? _Leave_.”

"Should I... Okay, so I shouldn't have said anything—"

"Every word you speak is another second I have to look at you," Goro says, with enough venom that Akira steels himself against a flinch.

"I didn't think, I shouldn't have and I get it, I really just thought that you hadn't meant it, so—"

"Put us both out of our misery and stop talking."

Akira hesitates. "I'll text you later. I'll come back and check on you."

"You're assuming I ever want to see you again."

Akira goes quiet.

It's like a hole he can't stop digging, but he can't deny that there's a little curl of satisfaction in his gut to see Akira's expression turn just a bit wounded—the great, impassive, mysterious Akira, finally forced to admit to being hurt. That satisfaction has to be enough. Goro turns away and leaves him to dress without looking at him even once.

Just as he gets to the bedroom door, Akira stops. “Goro, I didn’t—“

“I said _get out_!” Goro yells.

There’s a single moment where Akira doesn’t move, like he’s letting Goro know that he isn’t running away and Goro can’t make him leave, which gives Goro the idea of throwing the nearest heavy object at his head to make him go. When Akira goes, Goro knows it’s because it’s of Akira’s own free will and because he’s—because he’s being _nice_ , like Goro is the one in need of pity and delicate handling, and not because Goro’s actually strong enough to chase him out of his own apartment.

Akira shuts the door behind himself slowly, so that the bolt slides in soft like a knife into a sheath. There's the sound of him collecting his things in the living room, and the apartment door opening and closing, and finally Goro is alone, still naked in his own bed, with himself and his thoughts to get himself back together. Some part of him still tells him that Akira's hurt expression was a victory.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter [@p5crimes](https://twitter.com/p5crimes)  
> tumblr [@akechicrimes](http://akechicrimes.tumblr.com)


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